Little Lights and Street Dancing
by Koniax Hyasen
Summary: Gaara is a problem child with a talent for dancing. Kazumi is an artist that can see something that no one else can. How will the red string tangle these two together when one has a messed up past following after them and the other is in a wheelchair? One chance encounter leads to more, well, planned encounters. (Modern AU)
1. Photo

Gaara has always been what people consider the problem child of his family. Even though he grew up in a nice home with a mostly whole family, not to mention being surrounded by a good sum of wealth, it's just what he's been pegged as since he was a little boy. Maybe it's because he's the youngest, maybe it's because of his scruffy red hair and constant brooding expression, or maybe even possibly because he just wasn't interested in the family business. In the end it didn't matter to him. It _still_ doesn't matter to him. If people thought that he was the problem kid then just let them keep thinking that, he couldn't care less. He's never felt any real compulsion to prove the people wrong anyways.

Instead he chose to prove them right. He went down his own path that took him far away from family ideals, led him down dark alleyways and to new kinds of people. This decision has left plenty of scars in what could have been a good relationship with his father, and talking with his siblings is like tiptoeing through a minefield these days. But again, it doesn't really matter to him. If they treat him like shit, they treat him like shit and he never bothered to keep them a main thing in his life. He's free to do whatever he wants to now, which just so happens to bring him to this exact moment in his life.

Gaara surveys the crowd of people milling about around Central Summit. A majority of them are young men and women, like him in their early twenties, rushing back and forth as the get on or off their lunch breaks. A variety of older people mingle among this crowd, some the general business folk and others the family groups. Nearby is a courtyard where these different kinds of people can sit and enjoy their lunches, the weather, and of course the nice view of the fountain he stands in front of.

His gaze slowly drifts up to the sky, passing over sleek metal buildings that reflect each other and some of the city life below, until his sight is met with an almost sickly pale blue. The corners of his lips tug downwards ever so slightly in disgust. That shade of blue is ugly, in his opinion. It's always like that in the city though. Always like that in his reflection if he even bothers to catch it. Most times he usually always tries to avoid it though. He _hates_ that shade of blue.

Quickly he takes his mind and eyes off the sky to focus on somethings near his feet. By his left foot, covered in it's worn grey sneaker, is a black boombox; battered and falling apart it had been the only one he could afford at the time he got it, but now that he had sufficient funds to actually buy a newer version he finds that he just can't bring himself to let this one go. It's a fighter, only one speaker actually works well enough to be heard while the other is half fuzz, but he finds it charming. A few paces from this sound machine is a small, beige tarp he uses to collect the spare change people throw at him for his performances. Gaara didn't feel like it was necessary for the people to be paying him, especially since he has a decent paying job outside of this one, but it's not like any of them know that. He just does what he does because he wants to. It was after his first few performances that he realized that the same applied to the public. They'd pay him for entertaining them even though he doesn't have to. That and the tarp became necessary because picking up all the scattered change is not only a complete waste of his time, but a hassle of a chore to fish the coins out of the cracks in the sidewalks. And just in front of that is a sign with large letters asking for no one to photograph or record the performance.

He crouches near the boombox and fiddles with a few of the knobs to tamper with the volume and bass sounds. When he's finished with that he gives himself a quick outfit assessment to assure that it would work with routine or if he'd have to take a few things off. His feet are covered in those grey sneakers, laced and tied carefully so he won't trip over them. His dark denim pants may have long cuffs at the end but he's never found those to be a real problem, and if he were to remove _those_ then he'd certainly get a lot more attention than he bargains for. The shirt is actually a fire colored tank top, not quite red but also not quite orange with white kanji slashing down the left side that reads " _Seijōna jōtai e no shi!_ " Death to the normal state, or death to normalcy. It's his favorite shirt, also his favorite statement- one he continuously let his family know about. Over this shirt is a light grey jacket that has an adjustable drawstring hood. The weather is fairly warm, but there's still a chill in the air so he decides he'll just keep it and toss it if he feels like he's dying during the event.

Decision made, he presses the play button on his boombox and jumps up to get into place. Gaara relaxes and bows his head with his eyes closed while the techno music builds up. His right foot taps along, counting out the beat until he reaches the peak of the music. Then he starts to lightly march in place, bouncing up every three steps until the sounds level out and he stops momentarily just before picking up again as the singing begins. His right leg kicks out while his arm rotates backwards smoothly to bring his hand out, palm facing down just as he puts his foot back into place. Quickly he does a quick shoulder check before turning and crossing his arms once, twice. The worn soles of his shoes slide, as if friction barely exists, against the concrete ground.

The series of footwork is rapid and twisting, almost just as much as the arm and torso work. It has taken him a lot of time and practice to get himself to be as quick as he is now, and even more extended time to engrain every trick he knows into his muscle memory. And Gaara had loved every minute of it. Every dance lesson he had attended, every video he had watched, every sprained ankle or wrist he had ever received during his practice. He wouldn't trade one single minute of it for something like his father's business. He loves dancing; the way he can make his body move, the way he just feels _so alive!_ It's exhilarating in a way that nothing else can compare. And when all eyes are on him he's suddenly something _better_ than the problem child. _Someone_ better than the problem child. He's a performer, an entertainer. He's respected and praised for his skill instead of mocked and scorned. He's a better Gaara.

Gaara moves forward two steps and drops to his hand. He runs a little from a sideways angle and thrusts his legs into the air to pivot himself around just before righting himself again. With only microseconds used to gauge his landing, Gaara slightly tucks in on himself, save his right hand to catch himself should he screw up mid-air, and flips. As he comes back down his hand connects to the concrete and he pivots with his legs again to bring his lower body back onto solid ground. Without hesitation he leaps up again and executes the final steps of the dance, ending with his legs spread apart and his arm raising above his head.

He heaves, a little breathless from the pace, but thrilled with the success anyways. The crowd that had gathered cheers, a rain of money joining with and landing with small thunks and clinks on the tarp. Gaara nods to the people with a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. This is something he loves. It may not be something that makes him famous, or that his family likes, but regardless of it all he persists in his pursuance of this form of art. And it suits him just fine.

His arm lowers back down to its normal relaxed position at his side and he lazily surveys the crowd while his breath returns. The people are dispersing, most of them already knowledgeable of his routine; after one dance he takes a short break to go get some water or something light to eat before doing another dance. As Gaara starts to turn away a specific person in the crowd catches his eye. Well, at least the familiar nest of spiky blonde hair catches his attention anyways.

Gaara faces forward to assess the young man making his way towards him, crossing his arms over his chest a little defensively, not entirely happy with the surprise visit. The blonde raises his hand, the wrist wrapped in a black armband, and grins widely. He rolls his eyes but waits patiently for his _friend_ to hurry it up.

"Naruto," he greets coolly as the man strolls up to him, shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his khaki cargo pants. His shirt and jacket, which have the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, are relatively similar to Gaara's own style, but more geared towards Naruto's own… _loud_ tastes. Black on top of bright orange. Though he also has the same slogan in white kanji too, he doesn't treat it like the statement Gaara had meant for it to be.

"Sup Gaara, still rockin' the dance floor I see," Naruto's head bobs ever so slightly as he speaks, that grin never leaving his face. Despite the displeasure at his sudden appearance Gaara can't help but loosen himself a little, falling into the normal habit whenever he's around his friend. Gaara's head jerks to the side as he shrugs his shoulders.

"But uh," The hyperactive blonde pulls his right hand out of his pocket and reaches up to scratch the back of his head. "If you intend for that sign to work you might wanna put it all around you so everyone can see it."

His brows knit together. What? He hadn't noticed anyone recording his performance. Gaara glances around uncomfortably, the tenseness he had released mere moments ago returning stronger than before as a slight paranoia creeps up on him. He can't have anyone recording or snapping photos of him while he's dancing. Getting internet famous is the _last_ thing he needs right now, not to mention the consequences of if and when his boss finds out…

Noting his sudden change in attitude, Naruto turns to face the courtyard, stretching his neck up a little and bouncing on the balls of his feet. Those blue eyes search for someone in specific, and even though he doesn't know who he's looking for, so does Gaara. Naruto makes a small noise in success as he finds the person he'd been looking for as he releases the back of his head to point them out.

Gaara peers along the intended path to which Naruto is pointing in, squinting as he tries to figure out which person he's even pointing at. As a good show of support his friend says, "It's the blonde woman who looks like she's working on something."

With a more direct description like that it's easier to spot his target. Gaara starts to walk towards the courtyard in order to confront this woman and clear a few things up. Naruto follows after him with only a mild warning to not be too harsh on the lady. He rolls his eyes and counters that he's just going to ask that she _not_ post the picture somewhere and that if she'd please delete it, that'd be great.

He draws nearer to the woman, weaving between round and full tables until he stands at the opposite end of the one she's seated at. For a second his voice is caught in his throat, the previous plan momentarily forgotten as he transfixes his attention to what the woman is doing.

She's hunched over the table, short light ash blonde bangs that wouldn't stay put in her attempt at clipping her hair back hang almost freely as feeble curtain. On the table beneath her is a sketchbook and next to that is a sleek, silver camera. In her right hand is a black mechanical pencil to which she is putting to good use as she maps out what looks like the beginnings of a body. The position that this body is in looks kind of like they're landing after a flip. Gaara blinks and is reminded of what he came here to do, so he clears his throat to get her attention.

The woman's head snaps up, clearly startled. He briefly notes that her hand didn't jerk across the paper and ruin it, which signifies to him that she's actually got good self restraint, before focusing in on her round face. Her eyes are a light steel blue, alert, and upturned. Thin rectangular tortoise shell patterned glasses sit on the bridge of her nose, which has a light dusting of freckles along the peach colored skin. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion and a tiny frown tugs the corners of her lips.

"My friend told me you had taken a picture of me dancing," Gaara jerks his head over his shoulder to Naruto, who is no doubt waving as if to clarify who this _friend_ could possibly be. "I don't know if you saw the sign or already knew, but I don't like people taking pictures or recording my performances."

He didn't mean to lace any venom in his tone, but that's how it came out. Especially as he thought about the consequences of his image getting put onto the internet again. But the woman doesn't seem to pay attention to it or simply didn't notice it. Instead her expression transitions from confusion to surprise, to recognition, to understanding in three seconds flat. She nods her head and smiles in apology.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. I just saw your dancing and thought about what a good drawing reference you'd be," She flips her sketchbook and the camera around so he can see and compare for himself. While he examines, Naruto looking over his shoulder, she continues to explain herself. "I take pictures of people doing the things they love and then recreate it as a drawing, then post it on my blog."

He looks up sharply and she hurries to continue with her explanation, holding her hands up as if to keep him pacified. "I don't post the original pictures I take, just what I draw. And I hardly get any viewers since I don't use some big name blogging site, it's mostly just family and friends that see my art. But if it's still bothersome then I won't post the drawing at all!"

Gaara shifts between looking at her and at the sketch in process, still wary. It will definitely save him a lot of trouble if he just tells her to delete the picture now, but at the same time if she's telling the truth then it shouldn't bother him to just let her finish her project. But in order to make sure she keeps to her word he'll need some kind of proof…

"What's the url to your blog?" He tries to mix a little bit of curiosity in his voice but it still comes off as hard and edgy. He feels Naruto nudging him slightly and he spares a brief glance behind him to see his friend rolling his eyes.

"Oh, um... here," There's the sound of ripping paper and he turns back to see the woman tearing off a strip of paper from what must be some loose leaf meant as scratch and quickly scribbling the requested information on it. Pushing the glasses back up her nose she looks up and hands him the paper to which he barely glances at before shoving it into the pocket of his jacket. He'll go check it out later when he decides to go hit the library.

Naruto slings his arm over Gaara's shoulder and leans forward with a closed eyed grin. "Hey so this is completely off topic but what's you're name? I'm Naruto and this stiff is my friend Gaara."

The woman blinks in surprise but quickly returns his smile with a pleasurable one of her own, extending her hand and everything. "My name's Kazumi, it's nice to meet you two."

Naruto chuckles and apologizes for bothering her. She merely waves him off with a light laugh of her own before throwing in her own apology about the picture. At this Gaara nods his head with a smidgen of unsurety, feeling almost like he had guilted her and thus making him feel a little guilty in turn. He dismisses her apology saying that the misunderstanding had been cleared up so everything is fine now. To his relief that draws their conversation to a close and he turns, dragging Naruto with him, and leaves.

His friend sniggers as they walk away and he says, "That address to her blog must be the equivalent of you getting her phone number, what a stud you are."

Gaara elbows the other man in the ribs, not feeling a shred of mercy as he delivers the blow. Unfortunately a trail of heat flushes through his cheeks and he has to look away. Naruto begins to cackle through his wheezing as he realizes that his teasing has indeed affected his friend. Gaara then proceeds to ignore everything, coming to a stop in front of the water fountain and crouching so he can gather the tarp he had rather foolishly left unattended as he went to deal with the other situation.

When Naruto calms down and after Gaara had finished pocketing his money, the conversation gears towards an unsettlingly serious tone mixed with the usual that came with Naruto being himself.

"So while you were ogling her did you happen to notice anything in particular?" he asks casually. Gaara sighs in exasperation, turning to his friend with every intention of telling him off for trying to insinuate a game of matchmaker with him _again_.

"Naruto, I swear if you're going to try and set me up with another stranger I'll strangle you."

Naruto raises his hands up defensively, coiling in on himself with a look that's begging for peace and a chance to be heard out. "Nah man, I was just meaning did you notice that she was in a wheelchair."

Gaara blinks in surprise, his shoulders loosening and going almost limp. He turns around and looks for the woman named Kazumi again. This time when he finds her he doesn't pay such strict attention to her herself, but more around her nearby surroundings. From this distance and position it's really hard to make out, but if he squints he can see the handles coming off the back of the chair that he hadn't actually realized she had been sitting in. He had just automatically assumed she was sitting on the bench. And with this revelation in mind he also notes that she isn't sitting normally at the table, but more at an almost awkward angle meant to accommodate her in the chair.

A new wave of guilt washes over him. He'd almost been hostile with a stranger that also turns out to be handicapped. _Great._

A hand claps on his shoulder and he looks over at Naruto. "Hey now, it's not like you went full on Rambo on her or anything, right? Besides, she was understanding of everything and so were you so it's okay. Just chill out man."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "You're right. I shouldn't be getting worked up again over what's most likely nothing at this point. I'm technically on break right now so if you want to come with me to grab a snack then let's go."

Naruto slings his arm back around his shoulders and steers them towards a concession stand that's a ways away from the fountain after letting Gaara grab his boombox, tarp, and sign.

"Heh heh, Kazumi is a pretty woman though," Naruto snickers teasingly.

"I'm _going_ to strangle you!"

* * *

 **[TD]: *strangled pterodactyl screaming* I shouldn't be writing this when I have another story I really should be working on but _I_ _have no self control!_ *le sigh* Oh well here I go again.** **And a note on Gaara's dance: I mostly modeled after an MMD. (It's called [MMD Naruto]** **オビトで ELECT) Updates will be slow for this one since it's not going to take precedence over my other story.**


	2. Art Club

The encounter with the street dancer had certainly left poor Kazumi flustered. She honestly had no clue that he had a sign that asked for no photography or videos, this being the first time that she's ever seen one of his performances simply due to the fact that she normally doesn't make it a point to come all the way to Central Summit. At least not by herself anyways. But still, she just can't believe she made that kind of a mistake! Thankfully that man had been understanding enough that he had let her off the hook so long as she promised to not post the picture on her blog, albeit he came off as a little intimidating in his approach.

Kazumi sighs and brushes a few stray strands of ashen blond hair out of her eyes, reaching for her camera to admire the picture she is rather fortunate to still be keeping (let alone have gotten in the first place). The screen brightens when she pushes a button to wake it up and the image of the street dancer pops into view. She zooms out just a fraction to let her detail attentive eyes soak everything in.

The man is certainly an aesthetically pleasing person from an artist's, like herself, perspective. His build is strong and sturdy as well as limber from what _has_ to have been years of practice dancing. The clothing choice is worn, a little edgy, and loose fitting- a perfect get up match for the stoically passionate aura he near physically emits from his personage. His skin is pale and deep, dark circles outline his eyes. That ruby hair of his is short yet still long enough that it sticks out and spikes naturally on his own; some of it is parted just right that she can make out that he has a bright, cherry red tattoo on his upper forehead on the left side. But the most important part of this picture, to her, is the number of little lights gathering around this man.

Slim fingers lightly brush over the surface of the screen as she mutters a question quietly to herself. "Gaara, right?"

Of course no one around her hears her, nor does the picture make a sound to confirm the answer to her rhetorical question. A small sigh escapes Kazumi and she tears her gaze away from the photo to stare absently at the people moving about around her. A majority of the busy bodies passing her by are clothed in expensively tailored suits carrying briefcases, wearing a new watch or tie, holding a cup of coffee. Some people are like her, in their early twenties and enjoying a nice day out in the city- most with their friends while a few are with their families. Every single one of these people shine. Some are bright, others are dim, but the little lights swarming and trailing around them are ever present.

It fills her chest with a sappy warmness, causing a faint smile to tug at the corners of her lips.

Gradually a noise coming from her pocket grabs her attention. Kazumi blinks momentarily before reaching and grabbing a small, silver flip phone. The ID shows that it's one of her rather close friends calling her. Thought it's not uncommon to receive a call from him she honestly can't think of a reason as to why he would be doing it at this time. Confused, she answers the call.

"Hello?"

" _Kazumi where are you? Club started half an hour ago and your absence has be duly noted,_ " The semi-monotonic voice of her friend speaks crisply to her through the receiver. It takes two seconds for his words to be fully processed before she's spluttering and apologizing frantically.

"Oh my gosh I'm so sorry Sai! I completely forgot that Club was scheduled for today, _urgh_ oh my goodness how could I have forgotten that?!" Placing the phone between her head and her left shoulder she begins to gather up her sketchbook, pencil, and the camera. Turning around, clutching the items tightly to her chest so that they do not escape, she grabs the knapsack attached to the back of her wheelchair and pulls it onto her lap while opening it. Quickly she shoves everything inside, pulling the drawstring shut and making sure to double knot it for good measure. Kazumi flips the flap back over it and returns the now fuller bag back to its original place.

" _It's alright,_ " Sai lightly chuckles through the receiver, clearly finding great amusement in her reaction to her tardiness. " _We were actually expecting you to be late today, since you usually are when you get a free day from classes._ "

Kazumi slightly wilts at his bluntness, but recovers quickly. "Okay, thank you for calling and reminding me. I'll be over as soon as I can."

" _I suggest hurrying, they're starting to take bets,_ " There's more chuckling and then Sai hangs up on her. Kazumi's eyes widen and the phone nearly slips from between her shoulder and head. This results in a frantic game of 'Don't Drop the Phone!'

After struggling to gain control over what is acting more like a live fish rather than an inanimate object, Kazumi manages to keep the phone kept tightly in her grasp. She shoves it in her pocket and grabs the wheels of her chair, backing out and carefully avoiding ramming into people. Then she rolls along the sidewalk, bumping and jostling around at her current pace, and heads for the nearest transit center. Kazumi passes the fountain on her way out, with a brief notation that the street dancer and his friend aren't there anymore. This thought, along with the symmetrical beauty of the fountain, disappears as she quickly pushes onwards.

Kazumi disappears around a corner and powers down to the crosswalk where she waits on edge for the light to change. As the sleek, heavy automobiles pass her by she frets. She simply can not believe that she forgot something as important as Club! _Especially_ since she had been continuously reminded by numerous people the day before that a meeting had been scheduled today. Sometimes she wears that when she rolls out a of a certain set of doors her memory gets wiped clean of important dates and meetings.

The light changes and Kazumi speeds off the sidewalk and into the bustling street. The other people crossing give her a wide enough berth that it's almost like she's got some sort of invisible shield around her. By the time she's on the opposing side walk her arms are burning in protest from the vehement use they've been put to, but she ignores it and continues booking it to the bus station.

She makes it just in time, the last scheduled bus pulling in to unload and load up passengers. Kazumi takes a quick glance at the routes and finds the one that will take her to the college. Then she waits patiently for the ramp to be lowered before getting on and allowing the bus driver to secure her chair so it won't slide around everywhere while the bus is moving.

"Where ya headin' to, Miss?" The driver, a pleasantly portly old man with a scruffy grey beard, asks just after he hands her a seat belt. Small glowing balls of light hover around this man's head, tiny but plenty.

Kazumi smiles politely at him. "Summit College, please!"

The driver beams at her manners and tells her that they'll be there in no time. She watches as he settles down in his seat, and after a few minutes of waiting he buckles up and starts the bus. The ramp is lifted and transformed into the flooring once again and the doors shut. The bus in front of them moves forward, taking off into traffic with them following after.

* * *

" _You're stuck, aren't you?_ " is the first thing Sai says to her after answering the phone. Kazumi lightly scowls even though her friend can't see her yet.

"I got caught in the hole again," she mutters while casting a dark glare at the said hole which is currently trapping the wheels of her chair at a dangerously tilted angle. Any more and she'll find herself on the ground. While she's normally very good at avoiding this particular pothole on her way to the building Club takes place in, an over glorified shed behind the college, when she rushes she usually ends up catching on it.

Sai laughs. " _We'll be out there in a second_."

The line clicks and leaves her with the empty crackling of static. She sighs and hangs up as well. Kazumi shifts slightly as she puts her phone up and then continues to put all her weight on the side that is slowly threatening to flip over on her so that way it stays as level as possible with the ground. Her gaze trains on the corner that Sai should be rounding at any second with someone else from the Art Club.

A few minutes tick by and the first traces of their arrival is announced. Tiny lights, a pure concoction of gold and white, pop out from the corner like dancing fireflies. Not long after the appearance of these lights comes a sheet pale young man with inky hair and matching clothes, an overly amused grin stretching the cheeks on his face. Behind him trails another man with raven hair that glistens blue when the light hits it just right.

"Sai, Itachi, you're late!" She scoffs, pretending to be offended at their lack of punctuality. The men, both having been friends with Kazumi for quite some time, chuckle at her teasing and split up to take either side of her chair. On the count of three they lift up and shuffle over far enough that she won't have a chance of falling into the hole again. Kazumi thanks them, smiling with embarrassment and rubbing the back of her head while also offering apologies between her thanks. Itachi merely pats her head and walks along steadily by her while Sai takes the liberty of pushing her, as if letting her do it would land herself stuck in another hole.

They turn the corner and breeze through a relatively empty courtyard, only students that are on break lingering about, and then disappear down a less cared for path that leads to the shed. Well, they all call it a shed but it's not really the proper term. It's really a miniature studio, big enough to hold around five to eight people with art materials included with an improvised (and most likely _not_ safe) kiln right next to it. The walls are a muddy green wood and the windows are dusty. The hinges and nails are rusted, and the roof has several spots that loves to leak whenever it rains. The looks of the dilapidated building are what gives it its name over what it had originally been built as.

Itachi pulls ahead and smoothly opens the door and stands aside to let Kazumi and Sai through first. They nod to him as they pass through and enter a dimmer world that vastly differs from the outside one. Paint thinner and clay hit Kazumi's nose first. She smiles and relaxes as Sai wheels her in front of her empty easel, her eyes adjusting to the lighting gradually. There are two others in the room with them.

"Alright Weasel, pay up," A young man with long blonde hair, some of it stuck up in a high ponytail, jumps up from his seat with a devilish grin. He holds out his right hand, the wrist tattooed with black ink making it look like he had gotten stitches there while on the palm he has an elaborate 3-D design of a tongue poking out of a mouth. His shirt, a grey tank top, is loose fitting and partially tucked into baggy black cargo pants. The little lights surrounding him flit from place to place and buzz with energy.

Itachi stares at the man, who really more closely resembles a boy that has recently graduated from high school, with a neutral expression. The only hint that he actually found this situation amusing is the way the corner of his mouth tugs up slightly in a smug smirk.

"I said _before_ the hour was up. If you'll be so kind as to tell me what the time is then you'll see that, really, it is you who should be paying up," Though his features don't really change, Kazumi swears that he almost looks smug.

The blonde youth turns around wildly to look up at an old clock hanging on the wall, his hair splaying around him like a golden curtain. A frustrated, strangled cry escapes him and he turns again, shoving his hand deep into his pocket while glaring furiously at Itachi. The raven haired man holds out his hand expectantly, curling it up and retracting it as soon as his payment is delivered. A small but rather pleasant smile lights up his face.

"You really should learn to not gamble with me if you want to be keeping your money, Deidara."

This elicits a round of agreements from everyone present in the room. Deidara throws his hand in the air and waves them all off while moving to sit at his potter's wheel by the window.

"I swear one day you're gonna be scarier than that fucking miser," he mutters before clearing his head with a shake and then grinning at Kazumi. "Glad to see you made it in one piece. From the way Sai described it you sounded like you were about to get run over by traffic."

Her eyebrows rise and she turns to give her friend a look to which he responds with that seemingly guiltless small smile and a shrug of his shoulders. "When you're frantic to get somewhere you make it sound like you'll cross heavy traffic to get to your destination."

The person sitting in the center of the ring of easels, their model for the day, laughs. Kazumi's attention is drawn here and she brightens considerably when she sees who it is. Long, pale blonde hair is drawn back into a messy, yet stylish, ponytail- equally long bangs curving around her full cheeks. A single, bright blue eye outlined with mascara dolled up lashes bats with every blink. Rosy skin, full and tender pink lips, a flowy plum colored shirt with a ruffled black mini skirt and knee high boots- a classic look for the model in training, Ino Yamanaka. The little lights cling to her hair and clothing like delicate butterflies, blinking like wings fluttering.

"Hi Ino! Back again to help or just enjoying the view?" Kazumi asks with a giggle. Ino often frequents the Art Club as an active participating model, but on several occasions she had been confided in that Ino also likes to come simply because the guys here are hot. While Kazumi has to admit that most of her colleagues aren't bad on the eyes, she's never really felt inclined to consider them for romantic pursuits. But to each their own.

"Both," Ino reaches up with one hand to casually twist her bangs around her index finger while sending a sly glance around the room to add to the effect. Kazumi giggles harder. There's movement to her left and she glances over to see Sai getting up to grab a canvas. He returns shortly after, placing the white material on her empty easel. She turns around and grabs her backpack, rummaging through it to pull out her trusty pencil. Carefully she eases in closer and leans forward to place her right hand on the rough board. Next to her Sai readies himself much the same, while across from them Itachi puts on a pair of dark framed glasses and sharpens his own pencil. Deidara had long since stopped fooling around and has been steadily sculpting a few days old project of his.

Ino casually rests her arm on the back of her chair splaying out her fingers ever so slightly and linking a few of them with her other hand. Her legs cross and uncross until she finds a comfortable enough position to sit still in. Her head tilts to the side just enough that the light catches on her hair and makes it shine, while her facial features relax into a sleepy, serene look. The moment she remains still is when Kazumi's hand begins to move on it's own, sketching out the body path and the chair outline.

It's when she has the full pose fleshed out, probably a good fifteen minutes into the session, that the conversation starts to pick up and break apart the silence.

"So Kazumi," Deidara says from his little spot at the window, not really looking up from his crafting. "Where were ya when Sai decided to call and remind ya that we had Club today?"

She catches the snicker in his voice but chooses to ignore it along with the mild heat infiltrating her cheeks. Everyone often gives her trouble about her ability to remember things when she has free time. She's used to it and, sometimes, she even encourages it because it is honestly funny, even to her.

"I went to Central Summit to see if I could get any good shots to help with the out-of-club art block," she says while quickly swiping down and creating light lines for the hair.

"Hn, I haven't been there in a while for inspiration," Itachi remarks. "Perhaps I'll have to drop by sometime during this week. Did you catch anything good in particular?"

Invested in her work she forgets that he can't see her and nods, a small sound following the gesture out of habit. For the next couple of minutes Kazumi drowns out the chatter that had moved onto a mutual interest shared between Sai and Itachi, and that is the architectural structures that can be found in Central Summit. Kazumi quickly sketches out the rest of the hair and moves onto the clothes. After that she'll finish up with the facial features and smaller details as well as add in the little lights. By then she should be ready to start figuring out the correct color palette.

"Oh by the way Kazumi I checked out your update last night and I gotta say, that chick defies the natural laws of physics," Deidara's comment snaps through her concentration and she leans around the canvas to give a smile and a shake of her head.

"If anything defies the laws of physics it's your hair," Sai points out good naturedly, though the way he delivers it almost sounds insulting. Luckily they had all managed to figure out the pale man's way of speaking and have hence learned to not be offended by anything he says, even if he's being genuine (a rare occurrence). Deidara merely turns his nose to the air and performs a model worthy hair flip. It's Deidara Code for ' _Kindly fuck off_ '.

All in good nature of course.

Kazumi smiles softly. "Ballerina's are often limber so their bodies can be stretched further than normal. That woman just happened to be extremely flexible. It makes me wonder if she took gymnastics before ballae."

"Beats me. But really what I was honestly expecting to happen was for the image to explode because of that edit you put on the little lights. _That_ was trippy and clever as hell," The praise causes Kazumi to duck her head in thanks as well as modesty. She doesn't really think the effect she put onto her art really deserves such high praise, it was just her playing around with some settings to make the little lights flash like they do in real life, nothing special. But the praise comes anyways, the others jumping in with their opinions too, making her feel happy but also just a little self conscious.

The day steadily moves along, progressing into late afternoon and letting a golden amber color filter into the shed. It's around this time that Ino gets a call from a prospective agency that Club has to be cut short. Everyone packs up; Deidara gently sprays his project with water before wrapping it in a plastic bag and storing it in a cupboard, Itachi and Sai putting the canvases in safe places so they won't get ruined, and Kazumi washes out the brushes that had been broken out. When they finish they leave together. At the gates they all mostly split ways, only Sai and Kazumi going to the nearby apartments in which they lived in.

But even that company doesn't last long as Sai leaves her at her door before bidding her goodbye to go perform whatever miscellaneous task he has to do. In the end Kazumi is left to do what she will with her own devices. Of course, still on the motivation high from Club, she sets back to the project she had started working on earlier before someone came along to interrupt.

Kazumi wheels into her home, spacious enough that she would hopefully not destroy anything with her chair, but still relatively small as one bedroom apartments go. She glides over tile floor to her little desk where she eats, amuses herself on a cheap laptop, and draws to her heart's content. Currently there are colored pencils and copic markers scattered every which way over the desk top so she shoves them aside while simultaneously reaching for her backpack and placing it gently on the desk. She then proceeds to remove the desired items: the sketchbook, the pencil, and the camera.

She flips open the sketchbook to the page where she had started drawing the street dancer and turns on the camera. For a moment she simply stares at his image, glancing back and forth between him and the still relatively blank page. She sighs, shaking her head.

"It's a shame I won't get to post your picture. I have a feeling that this one's gonna turn out to be some of my better work," With that thought out of her head she picks up the pencil and picks up where she last left off.

* * *

 **[TD]: Fun headcanon I have is that in a modern AU I think Itachi and Deidara would be on friendlier terms but Deidara would still treat Itachi like some sort of rival. Another fun headcanon that I strongly (*read: wholeheartedly) agree with is that Itachi uses painting as a stress reliever method, which would explain why he's even in the Art Club in the first place. Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, it was kind of nice to get a better start on Kazumi's character.**


	3. The Summons

He's been sitting here for awhile, outside the library on one of the complimentary benches. The overhang of the large building allows him to escape the bright rays of the sun. Though today isn't even a remotely hot day he's still grateful for the reprieve. The last few nights have been pretty rough for him. Being an insomniac sucks for numerous reasons, and having to go outside where the sun is usually bright as hell is one of them.

He rubs his face tiredly, moving to the edge of the seat. He should really go inside now. After all he did come here to actually do something. For a moment longer he remains in that position; the tired slouch forward, face in his hands, feet pointing in two different timezones. If anyone were to look at him they'd surely be thinking that something terrible had recently occurred in his life. The only thing terrible occurring currently in his life is the lack of sleep he's getting and…

No, he'd rather not think about that right now. His hands fall from his face to rest firmly against the bench and he shakes his head. With a strong push Gaara gets up and ambles into the library. A wave of mild air greets him, ruffling his already messy hair in the process. Beige walls and dark carpet open and give way to a spacious area divided into multiple sections for the various age groups and genres. The left half is mostly dominated by children stories, about a fourth of this section is left for young adults. The right half classifies mostly under adult oriented books, non-fiction, and a small collection of movies available for renting. There are also two reception desks. One of them is meant more for search help while the other is for book retrieval and checkouts. Both are currently empty. Just beyond the checkout desk are a few rows of computers.

Gaara moves towards those and sits down at the nearest one. The screen is dark, but a little orange light in the corner tells him that it's just asleep so he moves the mouse to make it wake up. A blue setting flashes on the screen and a small box pops up asking for his library number and the wifi password. He shifts in his seat, which is a mixture of firm and plush, and pulls out his wallet. Most people wouldn't think it but he's actually an avid reader, and with his insomnia it's a rather benign way to pass the time. The black leather flips open easily and he quickly punches in a twelve digit number. While putting the wallet away he leans back in his seat to catch a quick glance at today's wifi password sitting on the reception desk. After successfully keying that in rolling green hills appear on the screen in place of the pure blue.

For a few moments Gaara waits awkwardly for everything to adjust instead of immediately trying to jump onto the internet. He learned the hard way that if he tried to access the internet the moment he logged in then he'd spend more time sitting there waiting for it to load over actually doing anything productive. While he waits he looks around. With a hint of relief he notes that a certain individual, who happens to be one of his superiors for his job as well as the head librarian of Summit Library, does not appear to be on duty today. He doesn't particularly feel like running into her at the moment, nor really… _anyone_ from his job. For the past couple of days he's been playing the avoiding game with them and thought it'd be a shame if he broke his streak now.

His wandering attention is brought back to the computer and he hits the internet icon. The tiny loading circle appears and then so does a new window. The browser logo pops up and he hovers the mouse over the search bar, clicking it so as to have it ready when he types in his destination. His left hand reaches into the pocket of his coat and he pulls out the strip of paper he had received from the artist. Quickly he types in the address and hits enter.

Immediately the blog gives him a traditional and homely impression. The background is a pastel green with dark brown- or perhaps it is black? -branches bordering the inner edges of the page. Little pink Sakura flowers bloom in evenly spaced clusters, a few losing their petals and blowing onto the empty space in large loopty-loops. The banner is also green, reminding him of bamboo shafts, with a white border that makes it appear stitched on. On the left hand side is the archive and a mini bio of the artist. The main body of the page is cream colored with a professional yet stylistic script giving a premise for a picture. After reading through it he scrolls down.

He's never really been an artsy person, the best he's ever been able to do is draw stick figures or the odd ended doodles. Yet it's never stopped him from admiring the accomplishments of others. Gaara's eyes widen and fill with a slight sense of wonder as he analyzes over and over the graceful figure of a ballerina. Balancing on the tip of her right dusty pink shoe she bends backwards into a gentle C, her left arm poised perfectly behind her with her right arm cradling across her ribs. Her left leg curls in, the foot resting against the right knee. The colors are an arrangement of muted greys and blues, focusing more on shadowing rather than eye popping. And the final touch to this picture, the most peculiar yet fitting addition, is the little floating balls of light which appear as lanterns around the performer. To make it even more authentic they even pulse slightly, as if they are alive.

Gaara continues to scroll through the blog in awe at the simplistic yet powerful art style. The colors never reach a scream for attention and yet it's all that they ever seem to call for. It drags his eyes over every angle, every small detail that most would probably overlook. Each person is different. Every activity a new one, yet many with recurring themes. And the one thing that remains consistent in all of them is the little lights.

He leans back in his seat and scrolls to the top to read the bio, wondering if there might be an explanation for the specific detail.

 _Hello everyone! This is your resident artist Kazumi speaking to you with weekly, if not daily, posts of my mini adventures. I've been drawing since middle school (currently in my second year of college) and it's been one heck of a journey for me since then. I could tell you all about that journey but I doubt anyone would actually be interested in such a thing. Anyways, lately my main focus has been on capturing the happy moments in life, or just of people doing the things they love. The little lights, if you're wondering, are just the positive vibes everyone gives off. Personally I think they're charming…._

His gaze flickers to the title of the blog once more. " _Little Lightning Bug's Art"._ Hm, so really it's just an artist trait. It's kind of… cute. Her attitude in her bio certainly gives off a humble, if not innocent vibe. A small sigh of relief escapes him. It seems that there's really nothing to worry about from this woman, though he'll admit that now he is somewhat curious to see how that picture turns out. But he doubts he'll be seeing her again.

A paper crane falls in front of him, landing on the keyboard. Gaara stiffens, finally becoming aware that someone is behind him. He doesn't turn around, however, simply choosing to find interest in the little crane. The paper is a soft lilac color. He's certain that there's a message inside of it and that certainty alone is enough to tug the corners of his lips down ever so slightly.

"You don't make it easy to get ahold of you, you know," A woman says softly, moving from behind him to sit in the nearest chair on his left. Gaara remains facing forward, reaching for the paper crane to cup and hide it in his hands. He glances at the woman from the corner of his eyes.

"Cell phones are too expensive and data is easily recovered by the police. It's the same with laptops and emails," he counters with a voice as low as hers. "And you know I'll never hand out my address, it falls under the personal life rule. I've made all of this very clear in the past, Konan."

Konan shifts ever so slightly to smooth out her black skirt, a deep blue knitted shirt covering most of her hand. Gaara quickly closes the browser and logs off of the computer. Standing, he turns to leave- one goal accomplished and another failed. Before he can take a step forward the woman is talking again.

"You will show up, right?" she asks calmly. It doesn't fail to escape him the razor hidden in her voice. He glances over his shoulder. Konan sits stoically in her seat, resting her head against one hand. Her hair, periwinkle in shade, curls gently around her face with a small bun sitting on top of her head like a crown. A handmade rose is nestled between the bun and her head. Konan slowly bats lightly shaded blue eyelids over observant amber eyes. Her face remains emotionless, yet he can sense the underlying smirk waiting to make an appearance.

He looks away and starts walking. "Of course."

* * *

Gaara strolls down the avenue, frustrated and now in need of something to do to pass the time until he has to go to a meeting.

"Damn you Yahiko," he mutters. In the past hadn't given a damn about the things his boss did, or made him do. Most of the time he _still_ doesn't give a damn because he normally doesn't get involved with the main faction, he's just been outer coverage. And yet lately he has been getting more and more involved, and it's starting to get under his skin.

His hands clench and unclench, stretching out the fabric of his coat pockets. He looks up at the sky and scowls at it. It's still too early in the day, and still such an ugly color. Gaara looks away from the offending view to the other side of the street. At this particular time of day traffic isn't very heavy, so the view of the other side isn't nearly as obstructed as it would any other time. Various stores, mostly the kind geared towards women's needs for fashion, line up in a neat row. Every now and then he'll spot the odd shop between many of the clothing ones; a pawn shop, a barber shop, and at the end sitting on the corner is a café.

Idly he continues walking down the street, vague thoughts about grabbing a coffee flickering through his mind. Gaara stops once he reaches the crosswalk and debates on whether getting the coffee will actually be worth it or not. As he does so his gaze wanders over the café, as if that will help him make up his mind.

The building's theme reminds him, faintly, of Kazumi's blog. The terracotta walls produce a homey and welcoming vibe. Pink and white awnings hang above the windows and doors and add a cheerful flare to the peaceful setting. The large window that faces him declares the name of the café as "Akimichi's" in swirling, rosey red font. There's a small group of friends sitting behind this window, three women to be exact. And two of them he recognizes.

Gaara blinks in mild surprise. One of the women, sitting to the left of a long, blonde haired beauty, is a friend of Naruto's. Sakura, if he remembers correctly. Her pink hair is definitely something he'd be hard pressed to forget if he were to remember nothing else about her. She and the other woman chat amicably with the third member of their party, Kazumi. His eyes hone in on her, noting that this time her hair is down and that it reaches about shoulder length except for the bangs. Unwillingly, but with the knowledge on his mind, his gaze travels down to the now blindingly obvious wheelchair. He winces slightly, still feeling a little guilty about the other day.

Deciding that the coffee isn't necessary he turns to walk down the next street. But not before casting a backwards glance at the café. He's not sure what made him do it, or why he has no qualms about it, but somewhere a small part of him is glad. Already having a small grasp on the kind of person Kazumi is he can tell that she acts as a small and hopeful ray of light, the kind of person people naturally want to flock to. His glance back at her shows him her laughter, though silent to his ears, and smile. It's the kind of smile that can unconsciously encourage him to smile as well, something he doesn't do all that often. A wave of calm washes over him and soothes the moody turmoil from earlier.

His head swivels around to face forward and walk away once again, just barely missing a moment where he could have met with the artist's gaze.

* * *

The Akatsuki Organization has three sides to it, two-thirds of it being the darker background portion masked by a pristine cover for the public to view. The white side, the side known for all kinds of good deeds and general accomplishments, is the charity. The grey side, the side that he usually associates with, is the outer coverage gang. In the grey side he performs back alleyway deals, brawls for extra cash, and chases snooping competitors away. It's a mixture of good and bad, not as complicated, just the way he likes it. The final side is black, the true dark colors of the Akatsuki. The black side is formed of a tight knit circle of only an elite few and unfortunately he's becoming one of them. Despite what some people would think this isn't the kind of promotion he likes.

As it stands, knowing the inner working politics that govern the Akatsuki and its motives is dangerous. If he were to ever feel like leaving the organization then the possibility of doing so while still a member of the outer coverage would only leave him in the hospital for a few weeks. Doing so as a full fledged member of the inner circle would find him six feet under in an unmarked grave. And that is the exact reason why he doesn't like it when his boss involves him too much.

With that being said most people would come to expect that the location of this particular meeting would be held in some abandoned factory on the edge of town. Contrary to this notion Gaara finds himself walking down a well lit, clean hallway in the Akatsuki building on his way to a conference room. White walls blind his peripheral and dark, thin carpet slides easily under his feet. He rounds a corner and reaches for the handle of the first door on his left. It swings open for him and he enters.

Calmly he notes that everyone except for his boss and Konan have already arrived. A few people turn in their seats to see and greet him. To his dismay they're both people he holds varying levels of dislike for.

"Hey Coon. Finally decided to show your face, hn?" Deidara expertly swivels around in his leather chair, smirking. His jaw tightens at the nickname. Out of everyone here he's only worked with Deidara and that was when both of them were part of the outer coverage. The stupid nickname is short for 'Raccoon', an underhanded jibe at the dark circles ringing around his eyes. It's only one of various reasons he has low tolerance for the blonde.

Across the table, closer to the head, a silver haired man grins sadistically at him and waves. "Oi, 'bout fuckin' time your damn pansy ass showed up. Boss man was getting irritated by your, as he put it, _tardiness_. We haven't been able to get on with our fuckin' lives because of you."

Gaara narrows his eyes, dipping his chin slightly in apology. Hidan… Where does he begin with Hidan? From his religion to the lazy way he presents himself, a mixture of pastor and casual clothing, down to the way he talks- all of it just rubs him the wrong way. He's also pretty certain that the man is psychotic, the kind that puts a person in a mental institute.

"He's here now so the matter is resolved. Drop it will you, Hidan?" Gaara glances at the man sitting between Deidara and a large man with blue hair named Kisame. Itachi looks over and nods his head to which he returns the gesture. Gaara takes this as his cue to have a seat and he moves to sit in an empty chair as far away from the front as humanly possible. At least one other person has the same idea as him, though it's not really surprising in his opinion.

Sasori doesn't even give him a proper greeting, merely giving him a once over before turning his head and muttering, "Brat."

A small sigh escapes him and he follows suit in ignoring the curly red haired man. His cousin has never really seemed to like him, not that he particularly cares. Most of his family doesn't like him so in general the treatment from Sasori isn't unusual. He folds his arms tightly over his chest and crosses his legs. Gaara hones in on the clock sitting stoically on the far wall and waits in mild agitation. The sooner they get this meeting over with the better off he'll be.

A few minutes later the door opens once more and Konan stands off to the side to allow a man with vibrant orange hair and various facial piercings to enter the room. He nods to everyone before moving to take his seat at the head of the long table. Yahiko shuffles some papers, clearing his throat and officially starting the meeting.

"This week has granted us with many successes, the biggest of them being the downfall of Kiri Industries. With one of the five major corporations taken down for its corruption then the others will be scrambling to hide any evidence of their impure dealings. Our next target will be striking close to home for at least two of you so I must know now: Will there be any complications from you, Sasori and Gaara?"

He looks away from the clock and directly into Yahiko's distant brown eyes. Gaara doesn't need to ask what he means by that, doesn't need to ask who the Akatsuki's next target is. Being called out is answer enough. His father's business, the family business, Suna Industries is going to be taken down for the Akatsuki to exact its plan of a peace filled society not dominated by lying, cheating, backstabbing corporations. With both him and Sasori having ties to the company then he understands the need to question loyalty.

"None here," Sasori says with a taint of bitterness polluting his voice. Yahiko nods, his focus still mainly employed on Gaara.

He closes his eyes, darkness swallowing the light as he feels the need to deliberate, yet unknowing of the reason as to why. A deep breath pushes his chest up and he shoves the feeling aside, opening his eyes. There's no way to avoid this, he decides.

With measured curtness he shakes his head slowly and answers, "Of course not."

* * *

 **[TD]: S/O to insertbestname and Hidden Berserker for reviewing! You guys rock!**

 **And thus the plot thickens! Still hanging on? Any questions? Any suggestions? Feedback is totes welcome ;)~**


	4. A Surprisingly Pleasant Turn of Events

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the song "If I Had You", which is by Adam Lambert. I also did not use the whole song either.**

Kazumi twirls a blue pen around in her hand, her head resting against her free one and off in a distant land. The professor at the front of the room continues his lecture at a mind numbing pace, such a distinct difference to almost any other day in Art Theory. His words only seem to be reaching her as an unintelligible buzz. It allows her thoughts to drift further and further away from the notes she should be taking.

She'd woken up late this morning and had barely managed to make it to class on time. It's a struggle to actually keep her eyes open even in this moment. Adding to it, she had to skip breakfast and her stomach churns painfully in hunger. People often say that when one wakes up late then the day is either going to be long and taxing, or it's just really, really going to suck. Kazumi simply hopes that it'll only be the former, but a feeling tells her that she's not going to be so lucky.

The bell rings, almost quite literally popping her bubble of distraction. It takes her a moment longer than usual to gather her things, still somewhat trapped in a daze. Kazumi reaches behind her and pulls her knapsack onto her lap. The pen and mostly barren sheet of notes are tucked away carefully and the bag returns to its original place at the back of her chair. For a moment her mind hits a blank wall where she can't process anything, and it takes her what feels like forever to remember that she should be leaving the classroom.

Kazumi carefully maneuveres around the long desk and rolls smoothly towards the door. The moment she passes under it, however, she's hit with a sudden realization. A low groan pushes past her lips and her chin dips towards her chest. While the doorway could steal her memory, it could also (sometimes unfortunately) return it.

Her next class period is technically a free one, and normally she spends it in the over glorified shed, but today will make it impossible until much later. At least once a week she makes a trip to the medical division clear on the other side of campus. There the students studying for a medical degree research her… _condition_ in hopes of finding a way to cure it. Kazumi's nose wrinkles ever so slightly, causing her glasses to slide up her face a little.

It's not that she has a personal grudge against anyone who works there, in fact she _loves_ everyone and has quite a few good friends, but she holds an x-amount of distaste for a particular exercise they have her do.

"Perhaps I can ditch and blame it on the doorway again," she mutters, turning in the opposite direction that would lead away from the medical division. "It's always worked before."

Although when she's used that excuse it has always been in truth. She is a relatively forgetful person afterall.

As Kazumi moves through the halls of the university she continues to mull over her decision, allowing the chatter of other students as they hurry to their classes to be her background music. Because of her disability she'd been contacted by the head of the MD, a woman known as Tsunade, and was given an offer that would help her cover expenses outside of her art scholarship. All she had to do was come in and do a couple of tests at least once a week. This would range from bloodwork to lifting specific items, and of course her least favorite of them all, walking. The thought alone about that task causes Kazumi to feel like a bowl of water just one drop away from overflowing.

She rounds a corner, nearly running someone over in the process. Kazumi lurches forward in her seat just a little from the jolt. A hand from the stranger flies up to brace against her shoulder and keep her from falling completely out of the chair, her glasses simultaneously sliding down the bridge of her nose. Carefully, the person eases her back and she shoves the unruly glasses back into place, an apology ready to go on the tip of her tongue.

"Ma, you really shouldn't space out while you're on the move you know," The apology disappears in a wave of surprise, her jaw going slack. "Traffic in these halls is already problematic enough as it is without causing a wreck."

 _Crap. Crap, crap, crap! Not this guy!_

A light hearted smile forces it's way onto her face and she reaches to rub the back of her head in embarrassment. "Sorry Kakashi. I've just been out of it all day I guess."

The man gives her a curious stare, a surgical mask covering a little over half of his face. Grey hair falls unceremoniously over his forehead and into his dark eyes, the left one bearing the fading results of a long passed accident. Kazumi gives him a subtle once over, making note of just where the formality his job requires in a uniform clashes with his own need to be sloppy; the crisp black vest and navy blue shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, is barely tucked into unironed grey pants. At his side is a clipboard with a few folders, which she already has a guess as to what they're for. Kakashi Hatake makes it a point to actually take his job as a counsellor seriously when it comes to students who volunteer as study cases for the MD. Her happening to run into him at this particular time, on this day, seems to be just her poor luck.

"Out of it enough that I see you've forgotten an appointment and are consequently going the wrong way," Kakashi steps aside and gives her room to turn around. "Good thing we ran into each other then, eh? Now it seems we get to enjoy each other's company on the way to a shared destination."

Kazumi resists the urge to frown at him, disliking the way he phrases his words. Instead she feigns shock, followed quickly by realization and mild external berating. "Oh crap, that's _today_? Ugh, I can't believe I forgot it _again_. Darn doorways are getting stronger at memory wiping, soon they'll be controlling the whole world."

She powers forward before deftly swinging herself around in what she considers the wheelchair version of a U-Turn, breezing past Kakashi and going back the way she had just come from. Kakashi follows after her, managing to keep up with a pace that is partially influenced by annoyance. A conflict of emotions bubble beneath the surface of her skin and she tries to reign it in with logic and reason. It quickly turns into a mantra where she tries to convince herself that it's not Kakashi's fault she's going to the exact place she wants to be avoiding right now, though a small, stubborn part of her keeps insisting that he planned this from the beginning. With some personal experience and knowledge about her current company then she might even say that he's half psychic.

"You know, if I didn't know any better I'd say that you didn't forget your appointment today," Kazumi's hands slip from the wheels and for a moment she simply glides along. She covers up the slip up with a scoff and casts him a sideways glance. The way those ebony eyes bore into her force her to look away quickly and back to a now relatively empty hallway.

"But you wouldn't purposefully skip out, would you?"

She tersely shakes her head, taking hold of the wheels once more and pushes on as if Kakashi weren't hitting the nail right on the head. Just as much as she finds conversation with the counsellor to be entertaining she also finds that it can be just as equally annoying. The man has a habit of pushing people's buttons and making them dislike him. She supposes that's what makes him a perfect candidate for his job. He counsels for what he thinks the problem is, then he makes people angry, and then he gives real advice once he gets his hands on the root of the problem. A crude genius unless he decides to not beat around the bush that day.

Kakashi sighs. "Now normally I'd let this slide, since it isn't unusual to forget things like appointments every once in awhile, but you've been too consistent about it. Is there something going on that you'd like to tell me about? Anything emotional or otherwise?"

Today just so happens to be that kind of day.

Kazumi closes her eyes and takes a long, deep breath before releasing it in a single burst. Her eyes flutter open and she works her jaw in a side-to-side manner, unwilling to divulge anything to him just yet. Bit by bit her chin dips lower until it makes her feel like she's glowering at the stone floor. Eventually she manages to work her jaw loose enough to speak without muttering. By then they've crossed over half of the college.

"You know I'm a pretty tolerant person," she starts off slowly, choosing her words carefully enough that she can proceed without giving off any impressions of resentment. "But even tolerant people like me have their limits."

It's too much to expect him to just drop it. Responding to him is like giving him approval to open a floodgate. Still, she's gotta give him credit for being so determined when pursuing a topic.

"And what exactly do you have limits for?"

Her gaze remains fixed on a point between the floor and the approaching wall. "A lot more than I let on."

The vague response brings about a lull in the conversation and Kakashi becomes mute, no doubt trying to work a way around this new tidbit of information. In this brief reprise Kazumi takes a moment herself to think about her answer.

Because she has a rare genetic disorder, a strain of limb-girdle dystrophy known as Miyoshi Distal Myopathy, then she had gradually lost the ability to walk. At this current point in her life she can barely manage to do so with support. There has hardly ever been a test, which the MD uses to track muscle deterioration, where she hasn't fallen down. If the humiliation from that isn't enough then she would place her money on the treatment she receives afterwards that bites the dust. Sympathy is one of her least favorite emotions if it isn't delivered right. Combine it with the kind of worry that only doctors and nurses know how to convey then she might as well slap on a label that reads 'FRAGILE' on her forehead. Altogether it makes her feel quite alienated and unnatural.

They turn a corner, Kakashi slowing down enough to let her pass ahead so she won't clip him. Kazumi draws a deep, sharp breath at the sight of the lab door she's supposed to go into. Her shoulders feel weighted with an unseen pressure. Even though she strongly dislikes being treated like a glass doll, and will even display the stubbornness of a mule to deny it, she can't help but think of herself as something at least closely related to it. Perhaps a stronger material like tempered glass, but still prone to developing hazardous cracks if not dealt with properly.

"Glass can only remain resilient for so long before the cracks its accumulated from being dropped too many times cause it to break," Each word brushes past her lips softer than the quietest sigh. It surprises her how ghost like it sounds, and she almost begins to worry that Kakashi hadn't heard her. Then again it's probably better that he doesn't. Like when one starves a fever to make it go away, one must never give Kakashi too much information to a problem she's already found a solution to. Even if that solution is not the best.

Kazumi stops a few feet from the lab door and turns to face Kakashi. His expression remains unreadable, and the mask is only half of the problem in this case. Ebony eyes flicker back and forth as he silently tries to read her, the book only partially open for him to merely glimpse a few words here and there. Not enough help him think up a better answer to her problems, but enough that he can have somewhere to start. She searches him as well, but as always his book remains closed to the public. It won't do her any good to tell him no more, that she's tired of it all and done, and neither will it do much good to tell that to Tsunade. Kazumi had signed a contract saying she'd help their research in exchange for pay like it were a regular job.

Suddenly he raises his free hand, reaching out and patting her on the head. She blinks rapidly and automatically tries to lean away. He smiles and retracts his hand.

"You're a good kid, Kazumi. Don't take on so much that it overwhelms you."

His features soften as he closes his eyes. Carefully he eases his way around her and opens the door to the lab. She twists in her seat to follow him as he steps through the doorway and lazily greets everyone beyond her line of sight. A chorus of mixed greetings echoes in response, along with a few surprised comments about the timeliness of his arrival. He jerks his thumb behind him and says something to the effect of blaming her for the phenomenon. It's enough to snap her out of her zone and bring her back to reality. Jumping into action she wheels herself around and joins the counselor in his mild banter as if today were a normal day.

* * *

"Alright, that takes care of that," Sakura announces cheerfully, setting two small vials filled with maroon shaded blood in a tray and handing it off to a nurse. The young doctor turns back to Kazumi, brushing a few stray, pink hairs out of her face and smiling. "Shall we move onto the last exercise now?"

Kazumi nods her head, remembering to smile as if nothing about this fills her with dread. She becomes acutely aware of a slight tingle at the base of her neck and needless to say she doesn't even have to turn around to name who's watching her. No doubt Kakashi's going to be watching her like a hawk during today's exercise now, if he hasn't been already.

Sakura stands up and leads her across the lab, maneuvering around the technical equipment to reach the small portion that's geared more towards rehabilitation study. It's filled with different kinds workout equipment that, on a few more lighter occasions, Kazumi had been rather curious to try out. But her main focus is always on parallel bars, which often reminds her of watching gymnastics during the Olympics season. However, unlike the professionals that can move their bodies like they were water itself, Kazumi uses them to struggle putting one foot in front of the other.

She wheels up to the end she deems as the head and positions herself neatly between the two bars. Sakura walks to the other end and nods her head, a soft and encouraging smile playing on her rounded features. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Kakashi shuffle in off to the side. Kazumi pushes her glasses a little further up the bridge of her nose just to make sure that they'll remain in place just before gripping the cool metal firmly with both hands.

On the internal count of three she pulls herself up and stands on legs that might as well be match sticks for all that they're worth. The glasses slip down ever so slightly despite her previous efforts, but she doesn't dare reach up to fix them again, having little faith that one hand will be able to keep her upright. A light flurry of spots appear in her vision from the action and she hurriedly blinks them away. When they fade she's left with a clear view of what will feel like a hundred miles before she's even halfway done.

Slowly, very slowly, she wills her right foot forward. It barely lifts off the floor, a dead weight being dragged like an unwilling hostage. Kazumi resists the urge to scowl as she repeats the process over and over again. Yet the further she makes herself go then the more focused she becomes, and the more focused the more frustrated she gets. It takes just as much concentration to _not_ yell at herself as it does to keep moving. The split in attention causes her to misstep and her glasses slide down a little more.

The movement from both observers is subtle, but obvious enough to her that it drives a wedge into her thinning and cracking composure. With a clipped tone she easily waves them off. "I'm _fine_. I've got this."

Their silence isn't as reassuring as she wishes it would be. Furrowing her brow she trudges on. Though there's not much distance left to cover before reaching the halfway point Kazumi already feels exhausted. From the hips down it feels like someone had encased her in lead and each shaky step threatens to send her toppling. Even though it'll leave her somewhat bruised she wishes that she would just fall already and get the rest of the ordeal over with.

Someone high up must have heard her wish and granted it for the heck of it. Kazumi briefly wonders why it's always the pessimistic ones that get granted before seizing in panic.

The moment she places her right foot down is the moment she knows that she messed up. With too much weight pressing onto one side and flats that barely have any friction then it's a surefire recipe for disaster. Her foot twists awkwardly to the side, sliding underneath and behind her, and she pitches forward. Her grip on the bars tightens drastically, jerking her to an almost painful halt. Before Kazumi has time to even think everything's okay, her glasses slip off her face entirely.

Everything slows down as she watches the glasses fall towards the white tile floor. She doesn't stop for a second to consider the consequences of her actions, only the knowledge that if those glasses break then she won't be able to afford a new pair for a couple of weeks drives her on. Her right hand lets go of the bar and reaches for the glasses.

As her fingers skim over the tips her left foot slides backwards at an angle. She turns on her side, eyes widening in shock as the blurry world shifts around her. Her fingers slip away from the bar and she hits the ground shoulder first.

Often people describe pain as a sudden burst of fire, an electrocution. Sometimes Kazumi felt it like that, but in instances like these, where trauma acts like a cushion, it's delivered differently. Before it registers that she fell then it's like being hit with a hard pillow in a fight she hadn't realized she joined, knocking the air out of her much the same as if she had been bowled over. And then came the shiver, sending pulses through her side until they become more and more unbearable. Tears prick at the edges of her eyes but she doesn't yield to them yet.

Sakura and Kakashi are at her side in an instant, checking to make sure nothing is broken before lifting her into a sitting position. The ringing in her ears dies as the rushing blood settles to a slow and semi irregular flow. She's knows that Sakura is talking to her, and is certain that Kakashi might be throwing in a word or two, but nothing clicks.

"Kazumi, are you okay? Does anything feel broken?" She squints at Sakura's pale lips in confusion. Broken? Broken? Broken…

She snaps upright, twisting herself around and wincing at the pain that shimmies up her side. Though they're hard to see, she knows what glasses should look like. These don't look like glasses, least of all hers. One ear piece lays at an unnatural angle from where she crushed it, the frames twisted, and the lens cracked. Kazumi swallows hard and reaches for them with a shaky hand.

Touching them is worse than looking at them. The physical confirmation that they truly are broken is worse than any previous blow she's recently received. Now, for the next couple of weeks, she's going to have to go in basically blind. Without her glasses she's almost worse than a bat, as contacts irritate her eyes to the point she looked like she came out of a zombie movie. Until she can get enough money to order in a new pair then she's out of luck.

"We'll help you get a new pair by the end of the week. Don't stress about it, okay?" Sakura's attempt at comfort is anything but that.

But being the tolerable person that she is, Kazumi nods anyways. The gesture is returned and then both Kakashi and Sakura grip beneath her arms and hoist her up, escorting her safely back to her chair.

* * *

Kazumi stares forlornly at the blurred glasses. A touch of frustration niggles at a corner of her mind and she sighs, folding the broken item as best as she can and shoving them into the backpack on her lap. She sets the backpack on the sun-warmed table, none too gently plopping her chin on top of that. Her gaze grows unfocused as she stares at the grey table. The splashing of the Central Summit Fountain drowns out even the mind numbing hum-buzz of people chattering and the drone of traffic.

She should have listened to the gut feeling saying that today was going to suck. The day had gone from mild to worse in the span of an hour and in her less than optimistic state she isn't sure it's going to get better. Her head sinks lower into the backpack, the thick cloth smelling like dust and sunshine. Her hands move of their own accord to dig the heels into her eyes.

The low hum of a bass thumping rhythmically drifts through the air, overpowering even the fountain itself. Kazumi's head snaps up surprisingly quickly at the sound. She blinks, rubbing her bleary eyes before locating the source of the sound by the crowd forming in front of the fountain.

 _ **~So I got my boots on, got the right amount of leather~**_

 _ **~And I'm doing me up with a black colored liner~**_

 _ **~And I'm working my strut, but I know it don't matter~**_

 _ **~All we need in this world is some love~**_

Kazumi's head bobs along in tune with the song, the crowd cheering and sending up a plume of little lights like a cloud of dust. She blinks, rubbing her eyes again. The appearance of the blinking lights brings to mind their existence. She'd been so consumed with everything else that she's forgotten to pay attention to the positivity floating all around her. Though she knows she shouldn't feel guilty, as not everyone can be content all the time, she can't stop the small pit forming in the middle of her gut.

Carefully, yet quickly, she backs up using only one hand while the other holds onto her backpack. To get her mind off the day's bad luck then she is going to be where the lights are. With such a crowd gathered there'll be enough to drown her sorrows away, if she wants to be poetic about it. Better than getting drunk, she assumes.

Curiosity replaces the dull frustration from earlier as she wheels forward, noting the good reception the performance is eliciting. The last time Kazumi had been here then the reaction was much the same: A huge barrage of enthusiasm, and surprisingly most of it came from the performer himself, though his face never really betrayed much. Could this be him again today? Kazumi pulls up to the edge of the crowd and squeezes her way through with little polite "excuse me's" here and there until she reaches the front.

If it weren't for the mop of bright red hair she doubts that she could have recognized him. Add in his rapid movements and he's no more than a streak of colors to her blurred vision. Despite being unable to properly track his movements, Kazumi finds herself admiring the street dancer's form. The lights that swarm around him convey his passion for the physical art in a way that no facial expression can ever capture, shaking her to the core. Any tension she had previously accumulated slowly becomes forgotten.

The dancer slows down with the music, raising his left hand in a creeping arc. In this brief moment of stillness she can see the way his shoulders heave up and down with breathlessness. The moment vanishes as the music kicks back into action, the dancer's head snapping down while he kicks his left leg out and flings his arm down again. Without looking behind himself he jumps onto the lip bordering the fountain and proceeds to dance back and forth on it, falling to one hand and swinging himself around. Kazumi refuses to blink, certain that if she does she'll miss something. Her heart beats erratically with the tempo of the song, soaring as the dancer propels off of his perch, spinning as he does a front flip. When his feet touch the ground she cheers loudly with the crowd, raising one arm high above her head and waving it in exuberantly.

The dancer finishes off with a little fancy footwork and a spin, tipping an imaginary from his head with a slight bow. Kazumi claps with her bag clutched tightly to her chest, a grin larger than life working the droopy muscles on her face. Few people remain to tip the street performer before dispersing quickly like everyone else. No one approaches him to talk.

Unwilling to be alone with her thoughts, and feeling a little bold, Kazumi drives around the tarp and up to the man. His back is turned to her so she clears her throat. He glances over his shoulder, his neutral expression morphing to a light shade of surprise.

"Ah, you're that artist," he mumbles. His hand reaches up to rub the back of his head as he turns around. He sneaks a peek behind him just before sitting down with a deflated sigh.

Kazumi giggles, brightening considerably at the fact that he recognizes her. "Yep, I'm Kazumi… Oh wait, wait, I forgot I already introduced myself to you last time. Whoops."

She gently shakes her head as she internally reprimands herself for such a minor blunder. The man dips his head, ruby hair falling messily over his forehead.

"It's okay. I feel like our introduction last time went wrong anyways. My name's Gaara."

Her shoulders relax and she nods her head. "Well Gaara, I've gotta say that your performance was really impressive. You sure know how to work a beat. How long have you been dancing?"

Perhaps she's getting ahead of herself with the casual conversation. She can't see his expression, but it's not hard to see the subtle way he shifts away from her. Her first encounter with him should have tipped her off that he's not a very social guy, but it's just one of the many things that she's forgotten. Kazumi tones down her smile, opting to be encouraging instead of what probably appears manic and frightening to him.

"I picked up some things in middle school and from there I've practiced on my own," he answers slowly. It sounds like there's more to the story but she knows better than to pry into personal life when they're barely acquaintances.

Gaara sits upright, splaying his hands over his knees. "I took a look at your blog, was very nice. Your style is pretty powerful too. How long have you been drawing?"

"Since my second year of high school. Before that I was actually more of a sportsy person, like cross country and tennis, but eventually I couldn't even do that and I needed something to keep myself busy," She closes her eyes and shrugs. There was nothing she could do to stop it from happening. Genetics are genetics. When she opens her eyes again she notes the way he looks away, as if in apology. Not wanting him to feel like he overstepped his boundaries she quickly waves the topic away and moves on.

"Oh, I finished that picture by the way. Do you wanna see it?"

His demeanor changes quickly to interest and she takes the cue gleefully. Kazumi opens her backpack and rifles through it for a moment before producing the artbook. She flips through it before landing on the right page. Folding it so the front and back sides are touching, she turns it around and hands it over. He grabs it carefully, the tips of his fingers brushing against her knuckles.

As Gaara studies the picture, Kazumi studies him. It's rare for her to come across such a person, but the man that she had drawn and the man in front of her now seem like two different people. In the picture, and while he's dancing, Gaara actually appeared content and sure of himself. But now, when the music isn't coursing through him, he's closed off and almost unsure of what to do with himself. The blackness around his eyes also accentuates the look in them. Dancing brings pure light, while otherwise they become sullen and he almost becomes unapproachable.

The thought of the black surrounding his eyes brings to mind something she had been wondering for awhile, and she slams a fist onto the palm of her hand. "Aha, that's right!"

Gaara looks up in bewilderment. "What?"

"The black around your eyes, is it, um," She halts momentarily, wondering if it'd be _rude_ of her to be asking this. Before the silence can grow too much though, she decides to just go with it. "Is it eyeliner?"

Gaara blinks once, twice. Kazumi bites the inside of her lip while scrabbling to find something to justify her question. His appearance gives off a punk vibe, but is that justification enough to be assuming that it's eyeliner? What if it's not? What then? She gets the feeling that if she could still use her glasses she'd be able to tell a whole lot better with as close as she is to him now.

To her surprise, and what seems to be his own as well, he laughs. Quietly at first, more like a low chuckle. He hands back her notebook before ducking his head and snorting. One hand flies up to rub his face and he loses his composure just a little bit more. His laughter drags on for a little bit longer and Kazumi tilts her head slightly to the left, confused but amused.

Finally he manages to reign himself in and he looks up again with a small half-grin. "Sorry, it's just the last time I was asked that question it was by my idiot friend Naruto when we were both in high school. But in answer to your question, no it's not eyeliner. These are just the results of being an insomniac."

She mentally sighs in relief, nodding her head in understanding. "I have an uncle who suffers from insomnia. Whenever he says weird things we often joke that he's been up in the night."

His grin cracks just a little wider and she feels a little more encouraged to share a story with him about something she caught her uncle doing once when she was little. Gaara nods every now and then to confirm that he's still listening, and in between breaths he inserts little snippets of his own similar experiences. Before she realizes it she's off with a ticket down memory lane, recalling a couple other stories of her uncle. By the time she begins to be self aware of the fact that she's done most of the talking then the lunch rush hour is coming to a close.

"Ah, I'm sorry! I didn't think I'd take up so much of your time, and talking about my uncle of all things too. You didn't have somewhere you needed to be, did you?" Kazumi waves her hands back and forth frantically and apologetically. Gaara shakes his head in a cascade of shining red chaos.

"No, it's fine. Your stories were entertaining to listen to," Despite his words Gaara stands up like he's ready to leave. Kazumi backs up hesitantly, the mixed signals making her unsure. But instead of leaving he stays, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot and scratching his neck with one finger. He opens his mouth as if to say something, only for the action to turn into a workout for his jaw in uncertainty.

Though strange as much as he is a stranger, she enjoys the street performer's company. Perhaps it's because he unknowingly brightened her sour day. Or maybe it's the way the little lights seem to be drawn to him. Whatever it is she isn't eager to be rid of him.

"Do you wanna go out for coffee sometime?" The words push their way past her lips before she can fully think them through. Gaara blinks in surprise, his head tilting back ever so slightly.

"S-sure?"

She grins at him. "Great! What works best for you?"

* * *

 **[TD]: Aaahhh, this is so overdue. But anyways, here's the next chapter for ya ;)~ Once again, thanks for those that reviewed. Hopefully I didn't cancel out any opinions of Kazumi for anyone with this...**

 **To Daydreamer1024:**

 **To be honest that was one the things that I thought about a lot too, Gaara not being a dancer and all. But I figured that since this is a Modern!AU and his job requires him to get physical then why not let him dance too? XD**


End file.
